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On a somewhat serious note today because of a conversation the other day:

I am sure every girl can recall, at least once as a child, coming home and telling their parents, uncle, aunt or grandparent about a boy who had pulled her hair, hit her, teased her, pushed her or committed some other playground crime. I will bet money that most of those, if not all, will tell you that they were told “Oh, that just means he likes you”. I never really thought much about it before having a daughter of my own. I find it appalling that this line of bullshit is still being fed to young children. Look, if you want to tell your child that being verbally and/or physically abused is an acceptable sign of affection, i urge you to rethink your parenting strategy. If you try and feed MY daughter that crap, you better…

So, it’s time to make a change. Right now, I don’t know where I’ll be in August – could be in school, could be gainfully employed, could be on top of a mountain in India, could be fighting forest fires from a helicopter.

All I know is this – I AM FREE – and not tied to anyone or anything. What an incredible gift! I feel like an idiot for taking so long to realize this, and for taking 28 years to realize that not only should I actively pursue what I dream of doing, but that I DESERVE to do what I dream of doing. And I dream of doing lots of different things. I want to be one of those cool people who grows orchids in the front window of a hipster bookstore and smokes peyote with Najavo elders. I want to be one of those people who climbs K2 or Everest because it’s there. I want to sleep all day and play jazz in clubs all night.

I’m working on my resume and applying for teaching jobs. And jobs with the U.S. Forest Service. And maybe even Navy Officer Candidate School. And I’m going to start gigging with a new music group. Or I might move to L.A. and try to find work as a score supervisor/orchestrator for film and television. Or I might join the Peace Corps. I don’t know.

But I’m definitely jammed in a rut, and something needs to be different. Never again may I have this much personal freedom, so I’m going to do it. I’m inquiring into and applying for anything that suits my fancy right now, no matter how dangerous or far away. I want to travel and have fun adventures, and I want to do that now. Don’t make me beg, universe. I’m here to tell you how this is going to go, and you’re going to listen.

They do. They mean well, but they tell me all kinds of stupid shit. Like, “Stop moping. Your ex isn’t moping,” as if grief somehow means I’m locked in a competition to see who can “do more” post-breakup, me or the ex. Isn’t this a movie, where I go off and become world-famous or something to rub it in his face? Just let me breathe, people.

I told my ex this one night many months ago as I was sobbing in his car – “This is grief, you asshole.” I’ll never forget saying those words – they were a Hail Mary for understanding of what I was feeling.

Grief makes its own rules, just like depression makes its own. I feel like I have a broken arm that just won’t set, and using it just makes it hurt more.

My doctor told me to talk to friends about what I feel. I told him my Pittsburg friends don’t care or they don’t want to take sides (probably the latter). I’m not comfortable talking about my busted-ass heart with anyone anyway, really, so the default is grief that sticks like trans fat.

The grief is starting to affect my work, so I’m trying to deal with it head-on instead of choking it down. At least the doctor made it so I can sleep at night, which is a start. The disenfranchisement that I feel makes me want to abandon everything I have built and go get a job as a park ranger in the Bitterroot Forest or Olympia National Park and reduce human contact to the absolute minimum.

This is sort of why I miss Idaho so much. Being alone in the wilderness was all the meditation I needed to work shit through in my head. That natural setting is good for the lungs, the heart, the mind.

Lawrence is great, and I could live the rest of my days here, but it ain’t Idaho.

Sorry for all the drama and emo shit. Winter is rough on me – I get kind of seclusion-y when I don’t get enough sunshine, and February’s the bleakest month of them all.

Make art, play music, laugh, help animals, be nice to people, ride your fucking bike. The mantra for rough times.

I have so much to say, but have been avoiding getting into on here because people actually read this blog. No, seriously, I had 200 hits one day last month.

So all I will say for now is this…Living with depression when life is otherwise terrific is like being stuck in an airplane on the tarmac. You could be sky-high; the destination beckons, but you’re stuck waiting for departure clearance from air traffic control – only air traffic control is your warped mind and doesn’t think it’s safe to fly.

If I could get my head right, I’d be having the time of my life.

More later. Got a few cool music-making opportunities heading my way soon, hopefully. No research direction at the moment, which needs to change as the process begins this semester. I’m in one piece so far and loving school. I just can’t kick the fog.